Meeting Emma
by babybluecas
Summary: Dean's pacing the hospital corridor like some nervous expecting father. After all, that's who he is right now. And the daughter he didn't know he had will be here any moment.


Dean's pacing the hospital corridor like some nervous expecting father. It's been fifteen minutes—he keeps checking the time but that, of course, can't make Cas arrive here any faster. Maybe sending the guy to a store on his way wasn't such a good idea, after all. He should have asked him to come right away, balancing at the speed limit the whole way, just like Dean did.

Because damn, right now, Dean could really use some support.

The phone call caught him busy at work and he nearly let it go to voicemail. When has ever an unknown number on his private phone brought anything other than mobile phone upgrade offers? But he picked it up, after all, and he sure is glad he did.

Or maybe 'glad' isn't the most accurate word. Confused is more like it. Surprised, though maybe not as much as one could be. Guilty. And a little bitter she's lived half an hour away from him all her life and he had no idea.

But he's here now and he's gonna meet her soon. Any time now she might be wheeled back into the children's ward.

Dean whips his head around at the rustle of the sliding door, but it's only Cas rushing in, a bag swinging at his side. Going by his heavy breathing, he must have run here all the way from the parking lot.

"How is she?" he asks in lieu of hello, as he catches up to Dean. "Have you seen her yet?"

Luckily, Dean's husband of three years took the whole situation well. So far at least. Ever since Dean called him on his way to the hospital, in low-key panic, Cas has been nothing but supportive.

Dean shakes his head. "They say she's fine but they've been running tests since before I got here."

"What about her mother?"

"Still in surgery."

The doctors didn't have much to tell him about Lydia's state. He knows her side of the car took the worst of the blow, sparing the kid, thank God.

"You think she…?" He doesn't have to say out loud what they're both thinking.

"She's gonna make it," Dean says firmly. "She's gotta, Cas. No five-year-old should lose their mother."

Dean knows something about that. He was just around Emma's age when the fire took his mom. At least then, he still had his father, no matter how poor a parent he came to be in his endless grief.

And he had Sam to take care of, too.

The kid's got no one but the guy she's never met, who was never there for her. The only thing they have in common is a bunch of genes and Dean's name on her birth certificate, which is how the cops even knew to look for him.

Dean sinks into the plastic chair, burying his face in his hands. What a shitty, shitty way to find out he has a daughter.

Still, he swears that if the worst happens, he'll be the best dad a kid could ever dream of.

And if the worst doesn't happen…maybe he'll get to be a great dad anyway.

But he can't let his thoughts race that far ahead. Here and now, he's gotta stay here and now and keep his focus on the little girl who needs comfort and care.

In a familiar gesture, Cas lands his palm on Dean's shoulder. The touch, the weight alone wash some of the worry away. The assurances whispered over the grim hospital ambience help too and soon Dean's able to shift back to his regular in-control mode.

First thing's first, he points to the plastic bag taking up the chair beside Cas. "You got it?"

"Of course." Cas hands him the bag, stamped with a colorful logo of a local toy store. "I didn't know which one to pick, the selection was quite dazzling. I hope this one's okay."

That does not sound good. Dean should have known to be more specific, to say bears are fine and bunnies and cats and— Well, really, after all those years, he should have known not to leave non-critical decisions to Cas alone. But there he is now, with Brad Pitt's voice yelling "What's in the bag?" in his head.

But he barely manages to take a peek inside, spot the grayish-brown fur and sink his fingers in it, when Cas snatches his attention, again.

"So, what are you gonna tell her?"

Dean freezes with his fist squeezing the soft belly of the toy. Or maybe its leg. He doesn't know, doesn't care. He lets go of it. The stuffed animal isn't gonna magically solve everything, after all, is it?

"I don't know, Cas," he admits. He ran through every scenario as he waited. He chose his words carefully and supplied the reactions from an imaginary child. "It's not like I can just come up and say 'Hi, you don't know me but I am your dad,' you know? Can't turn the kid's life upside down, just 'cause I'm the guy who slept with her mom that one time." He made up the reactions of the mother too, alive, dying, dead. "Plus, it's not my decision to make."

"Well, then I think you know what to say," Cas says, his lips curled up in a soft smile. "You always do. And you're amazing with kids," he adds, à propos of nothing, "you know that."

Dean bites his lip. He can't argue with that. Maybe it's 'cause of all the time he spent with Sam, raising him, or 'cause he knows exactly all the things that kids need, things they want to hear from the adults around them; things he wishes someone offered to the boy that he once was.

Or maybe it's just 'cause children are easy—they're little, bouncy balls of light that only require fun, love, and understanding, and give it right back, tenfold.

Yeah, kids are easy and Dean's a natural. Then why's his stomach in knots?

"I know, it's just—it's different." It's different because she's Dean's. And Dean's her father, not just a cool uncle, this time. "What if she's got, I don't know, expectations?"

"Dean, she's five," Cas reminds him, the slightest tint of amusement in his voice. He puts his finger beneath Dean's chin, makes him look up, look him in the eye. "That little girl is gonna love you," he says with a force Dean's not gonna try to defy. "And you're gonna take amazing care of her while her mom's in recovery."

Dean takes a deep breath, but before he can say anything, the door behind Cas's back open.

"That's gotta be her."

The nurse in a pink uniform pushes the girl in on a wheelchair that's way too big for her, making her look even smaller than she is, with her bruised legs dangling sadly from the seat. Her right wrist is bandaged and pressed tight to her chest, but, other than that and a few scrapes, she seems fine. Her long, blonde hair falls into her eyes, still puffy from crying but all dried up by now.

Dean springs up from his chair a little too hastily, but she pays him no mind. With a morose look on her face, she watches the passing parade of cartoon characters painted on the walls that are supposed to make the place a little more bearable for the little ones.

Dean straightens his jacket with one hand, nervously. The other he's got wrapped around the bag.

"Stay here," he tells Cas, as he moves forward to meet his daughter. One stranger approaching her at a time is enough.

He makes eye contact with the nurse first, hoping she'll catch his drift without him having to say the word out loud. She's a different nurse than the one talked to before, but within a small children's ward, the information certainly spreads around well. She nods in understanding and stops the wheelchair before leaning down to whisper something to the girl.

"Hi, Emma," Dean says in his softest voice. That gains him her attention and a wary glare. "I'm Dean. I'm a friend of your mom's."

The mention of her mom only deepens her frown. She pulls her knees up to her chin, legs pressing too tight to her hurt hand, all to build up defenses.

"I want my mommy," she says in a small voice.

"I know, kiddo." Dean crouches down to get on her level. "But the doctors are taking good care of her now. I'll stay with you until she feels better, okay?"

To that, Emma only shrugs, her healthy arm wrapped around her legs. Still, this is good, right after the trauma of a car crash and doctors and no familiar face around her, with the worry building up in her small body, she's holding up well.

He just needs to help her hold up a little longer.

And luckily, he's got his secret weapon on him.

"Hey, I've got something for you."

He reaches into the bag and pulls out the stuffed toy. It takes his brain a second to process the unproportionally long limbs and claws, the weird face, and the beady eyes. Out of the 'dazzling' choice of stuffed animals, of course this ridiculous thing is something Cas would buy: a sloth, one a little too realistic for comfort.

Not a bunny, not an elephant, not a unicorn. A sloth.

"What the hell?" he mouths, but doesn't say it out loud.

It's too late to act and stuff it back into the bag, the thing's already right before Emma's eyes.

With bated breath he watches her reaction, her eyes narrowing as she's trying to decide whether she should laugh or scream. Her lips quiver as she reaches out and grabs the sloth by its face, then she breaks out a toothy grin and Dean lets out a relieved sigh.

"Thank you!" she says, politely, snatching the sloth from Dean's grip and letting her legs down to make room for her new friend.

Victory. Dean grins back at Emma before glancing at Cas, who patiently watches them from his seat. He's gonna have to thank him, and maybe apologize, too, for doubting his judgement. Although, to be fair, he's only completely lucked out this one time.

"Alright, let's get you back to your bed."

Dean takes over the wheelchair-pushing duties from the nurse. He follows her directions and steers Emma to her hospital room, which is buzzing with the voices of the other small patients and their families. Her bed is the only empty one inside.

She needs a little help clambering into it, as she refuses to let the toy down for even a moment.

"So, what do you wanna name your sloth?" Dean asks once she's comfortable.

"Oh." She muses for a while, her lips pursed, her head swaying to the sides. It seems like he's just given her a terribly difficult task. "I don't know," she decides, at last.

"I'm sure we'll think of something. How about Mortimer?"

"What?" Emma squeals, amused. "That's not a name!"

"Of course it's a name."

She only stops giggling for long enough to say, "It's a silly name!"

"It's a silly guy," Dean points out.

"It is!"

Emma dissolves into a puddle of laughter and Dean can't hold back a bellowing laugh of his own. How could he be so stupidly stressed about meeting her? He's only known her for a moment and she's already wormed her way into his heart. And he knows that she's gonna be just fine.

He knows that even hours before a doctor comes to inform her that her mom will be just fine, too.


End file.
